


Trade Baby Blues For Button Browns

by coricomile



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Coraline - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other world was nice. He had a meal with his other family, sitting in awe at his other mother's side, touching her hand at every chance. After lunch, she called him to the front door and opened it. On the other side, Puck stood, his button eyes glinting in the porch light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade Baby Blues For Button Browns

Kurt found that he didn't like the house very much.

It was a very old house, full of very old things and nothing much to amuse someone of his age. Of course, since he was the only one of his age living in it, that was only to be expected.

In the bottom apartment lived Miss Santana and Miss Brittany. They might have been beautiful ladies, once, but time had not been especially nice to them. Miss Santana was round in the face, her dark hair thin around her temples and the crown of her head. Miss Brittany was awfully thin, hands twisted up like spiders with arthritis.

"We were performers once," Miss Santana told Kurt the day they moved in. "But now all we have are the bunnies."

"I like bunnies," Miss Brittany added. "They're so... soft." 

Their apartment, right in the middle of the house, was still full of boxes. Boxes of clothes and boxes of towels and boxes of tools. The windows were all painted shut and the doors all hung crooked on their hinges, big and blue and troublesome.

Kurt missed his old house sometimes, but his father said they'd be happier in the new house, with its funny smells and funny little door handles. Kurt wasn't so sure if his father was right.

The only nice thing about the house at all, in Kurt's opinion, was the giant yard. The grass was a little long, full of wilting flowers, but at least it had things to explore. There was a barn and a thatch of trees and a covered well with _warning_ written on it in big white letters.

For the first few days of summer, Kurt explored the yard and sat in the barn with his favorite CDs and sang the songs that he could hear coming from Mr. Schuester's apartment. It was all very boring, if he said so himself, but school was forever away and he had nothing else to do.

Then, one day, it rained and rained and rained.

"Stay inside," Kurt's father said as he walked out the door in his big coveralls and mudboots. "You'll get sick."

"But there's nothing to do in here," Kurt said. His father frowned at him.

"Kurt, I have work. Do as I say for once, please?" His father frowned and Kurt sighed. He would stay inside, even though he would surely die of boredom. "Explore the house. You might find something to do."

So, Kurt did. He cleaned his room and hung his favorite posters. He ate a peanut butter sandwich as he walked the halls, looking for the best spots to hang photos. He swept the kitchen and bathroom floors with the old broom and cleaned every last window. At the end of the day, he was no less bored, but the house didn't smell as funny anymore.

It was near time for his father to come home when he found the door.

It was a large door, brown and straight in its hinges. The lock was made of brass, the handle tarnished silver. It felt cold when Kurt wrapped his hand around it and held fast. When he knocked on it, the space behind the door echoed. Curiously, Kurt looked for the key ring that his father kept, and opened the door. With held breath, he swung it open slowly, its hinges creaking. 

It lead to a brick wall.

“How disappointing,” Kurt said to himself. Kurt closed the big door with a little huff and replaced the keys on the top of the refrigerator. How boring this house was after all.

At nine thirty-one, he went to bed.

\---

He had a very strange dream. In the middle of the night, something like the sound of creaking floorboards made him sit up and glance around his room, holding the sheets to his chest. If there were intruders, he wanted no part of them.

Across the room, a shadow flickered.

It was a small shadow, round in the middle and pointed at the ends, stretched long. Curiously, Kurt followed after it. It was, after all, too small to be an invader. The shadow bounced through the long hall, past the closed door of his father's room, and around into the kitchen.

Kurt hurried after it, his socks skidding on the wood floors. As he rounded the corner to the living room, the shadow darted into the big brown door. When Kurt opened it fully, all that lay behind it were the same dirty red bricks. Funny that, he thought as he shut the door again. It had been ajar, even though he had closed it before bedtime.

\---

The day outside was bleak, but at least the rain had stopped. Kurt was drawing figures in the mud with a stick, careful of his neat clothes. He wouldn't be allowed to wear them to school in the fall, so he wore them at all times now, to get it out of his system.

He was drawing Misses Brittany and Santana as fat, lumbering opera stars when someone cut through the path, both ruining his efforts and splattering him with mud. Kurt sputtered and fell backwards, already feeling muck dirtying his trousers.

"You jerk!" He scrambled to his feet, shoes sliding through the puddle. The boy on the bike skidded to a stop, whipping the back wheel around with a spray of filthy water. Kurt glowered at him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" Kurt demanded.

"I'm Puck," the boy said, grinning stupidly. "I'm staying with my aunts for the week." Kurt narrowed his eyes and Puck laughed. "You have dirt on your face."

"I wonder why," Kurt muttered, wiping his hands over his cheeks. He could feel the mud smearing against his skin.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing in the mud?" Puck asked. Kurt straightened his shoulder and tried to look down his nose. It was a difficult task, what with his being shorter, but Kurt did love a challenge.

"I'm fifteen," he said. "And unless _you_ can figure out something better to do, I suggest minding your own business." Puck shrugged.

"Aunt Brittany taught me how to read tarot cards," he said. Kurt bit his tongue, but he really did want to know how she found the brain for it. "You want a reading?" 

Puck was bigger than Kurt, older too. He had big arms and a stupid haircut and ugly clothes, but he was young and possibly entertaining, and, if Kurt cared to admit it, pleasing to look at. Kurt sniffed and dusted himself as well as he could.

"Only if you give me a change of clothes," he said. Really, he could have gone home and changed, but he was afraid that maybe Puck would change his mind, and that made him sad all the way down.

"Whatever, princess. Come on." Puck pedaled his bike slowly to the little set of steps that led to Miss Brittany and Miss Santana's apartment. He walked straight inside and Kurt followed after him tentatively. Miss Brittany and Miss Santana were nice, but he felt strange being in their home without them there.

Puck led him through the house to a little room. It was messy, and it had a single faded poster on one wall. It seemed very boring. Puck shoved a sweater at him and waited, tapping his foot as Kurt swapped it for his ruined shirt. His pants were getting crusty, but at least he was getting warm.

Puck laid out a set of long, old cards on the bed, fussily arranging them until Kurt sat across from him, watching skeptically. Magic was for kids. Everyone knew that. 

"Shuffle," Puck ordered. So, Kurt did, feeling the old, soft edges against his palms and the surprising weight of the whole deck. "Stop. Give 'em back."

When the cards were in his hands again, Puck laid out three of them in a neat row, all face down. He made a show of pressing his hands to his temples and humming, which was incredibly stupid looking, before turning over the first card.

"This means you're boring," Puck said as Kurt looked at the three cups on the face of the card. "And this one means your clothes are stupid."

"You're not nice," Kurt scolded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I bet you don't even know how these work." Puck rolled his eyes and reached for the third card.

"Magic is for losers-" He cut off when he flipped the card, his lips going pale. "You're in trouble. Something's after you." The card was drawn like an old painting, pretty colors and shaggy, uneven lines. Printed in a child's hand at the bottom was the word _death_.

"That's not funny," Kurt said, suddenly very angry. He thought he had a chance of making a friend, and here this boy was nothing more than a great big jerk.

"It's not supposed to be," Puck muttered. He reshuffled the cards and laid them out again, flipping them over. Three of cups, two of swords, death. Again. "Jesus." Puck reached into his pocket, and Kurt jumped when he pulled out a pocket knife.

"What are you doing?" He asked, voice going shrill.

"Just shut up for a second." Puck stuck the blade through the middle of the death card, shiny silver metal glinting, and cut a jagged little hole through the dark figure of Death's chest.

"You're a freak," Kurt said shakily as Puck rooted around in a drawer. He found a loop of string and threaded it through the hole, holding it up triumphantly when he was done.

"I'm protecting you," Puck says, matter-of-fact. “Wear it," Puck said. "It'll keep you safe."

Kurt left after that, muttering to himself about how very odd Miss Santana's nephew was. Still, at bed time, he looped the string around his neck. A little protection never hurt anything.

\---

The next day, Kurt found a note on the table.

_Breakfast's in the microwave. Don't wander too far off. I'll be home by midnight._

Kurt frowned down at it before making his way to the microwave. Inside, a lukewarm plate of burnt potatoes and watery eggs waited for him, sad and horrible. Kurt dumped it in the trash.

The day was very boring. He cleaned his room again and reorganized his books. He unpacked the last of their boxes and dusted the living room shelves until his eyes were an unflattering dusty red. He sang to the radio and danced until his legs were sore, but still, he was very, very bored. Some time in the afternoon, a noise came from the living room.

"Dad?" Kurt called. No one answered him. He crept into the room, the broom clutched in his hands, and eyed all the corners for intruders.

No one was there.

Kurt searched the room from top to bottom, but nothing showed out of place. Cautiously, he opened the big oak door in the corner. The brick wall was gone.

In its place was a long hallway. Kurt glanced over his shoulder and tightened his hands around the broom handle. It couldn't hurt to take a look, and Kurt always did love an adventure.

The hall seemed to stretch forever. Kurt halted when he finally reached the end, frowning. The apartment looked very familiar. It was _his_ apartment, he realized. Everything from the photographs to the knick-knacks were in place, all the same but backward. Kurt touched a knick-knack and was surprised to see that it was solid.

"Hello?" He called again as he wandered through the living room to the kitchen.

"Morning, scout." His father was standing there, back to the door, cooking lunch.

"Dad? I thought you went to work?" Kurt stepped back when the man turned, dropping his broom to the ground.

The man looked like his father mostly, but his hands were very long, his fingers like spider legs, and his mouth was too large, stretched across his face like the Cheshire cat's smile. And in the middle of his face, two large, shiny black buttons were sewn into the place where his eyes were supposed to be.

"I'm just making you some lunch," the man said. "Tofu stirfry. Your favorite."

"Who are you?" Kurt asked, inching back toward the hall.

"I'm your other father," the man said. A door closed in the distance, and the distinct sound of high heels tapping against hardwood echoed into the kitchen. "And there's your other mother."

In the doorway, a woman stood, her dress yellow and billowy. Her face was familiar, the lines of her jaw and the slope of her nose identical to Kurt's. She looked like the pictures in the photo albums in his dad's room, down to everything but the glossy button eyes.

"Mom?" He said, breathless. The woman smiled softly and leaned down in front of him. She brushed his hair away from his face gently.

"Of course."

\---

The other world was nice. He had a meal with his other family, sitting in awe at his other mother's side, touching her hand at every chance. After lunch, she called him to the front door and opened it. On the other side, Puck stood, his button eyes glinting in the porch light.

"I thought you might want to play," his other mother said. "You should visit Miss Santana and Miss Brittany. They're having a show." 

Kurt was reluctant to leave his other mother's side, but other Puck took his hand and linked their fingers together, dragging him to the downstairs apartment excitedly.

The apartment was no longer an apartment. Instead, it was filled with red velvet chairs in neat rows, all of them filled with pointy-faced white rabbits with pink eyes. They sniffled their noses as Kurt followed Puck down the center aisle, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of the place. At the far end of the apartment was a stage. The curtains were pulled, but he could hear Miss Brittany and Miss Santana laughing together.

The show was beautiful. Other Miss Santana and other Miss Brittany were beautiful, skinny and young and wrinkle free. They sang pretty songs and danced gracefully across the stage in lovely tutus, every choreographed step more stunning than the one before it.

"Kurt?" Other Miss Brittany called from the stage. The pink sequins of her dress glowed under the spotlights like fireflies. "Join us. Sing with us."

Other Puck smiled at him, his button eyes gleaming, and pushed Kurt up to the stage.

He sang like he'd never sang before, voice echoing across the room, spurred on by the cheerful cries of the bunnies and other Miss Santana and other Miss Brittany. He felt at home, storming the stage like a prima donna. In the audience, other Puck clapped and clapped and clapped.

When he was exhausted from singing, Kurt stepped away from the stage on wobbly legs, the glamor wearing away. Puck took him by the hand again and waved at his aunts, mouth stretched out in a wide grin.

They played in the yard for the longest time, drawing and singing and talking. Other Puck spoke slowly, like he was reading a script, but he was very smart and very funny, and if Kurt didn't look at his button eyes, he was also very handsome.

"You should stay here," other Puck said. "I like having you around." When he kissed Kurt chastely on the mouth, he tasted like clean, fresh linen.

At nightfall, Kurt returned to his own apartment, hair a mess from other Puck's wide, warm hands and heart still thumping. His other parents were standing side by side in the kitchen, waiting like they had never left at all.

"Do you like it here?" His other father asked.

"Yes," Kurt answered. It was very nice here. Much more fun than the _real_ home. His other father smiled, his lips squirming on his face like pale worms.

"You could stay," he offered. "There's just one thing you'd need to do."

His other mother's hand slid into her pocket. She opened her fist and showed him a thick spool of thread and two shiny, beetle black buttons.

"I think I'd like to go home," he said, backing toward the door towards his own apartment.

"Are you sure? You could have everything you ever wanted here." His other father stepped forward, his squirmy pink lips worming their way back and forth over his paper white skin.

"Thank you for having me, but I think I'd like to go home now." Kurt opened the door and stepped through it, shivers running up his spine. "Bye now."

When he was safe inside his own apartment, he locked the door and sighed in relief.

\---

"You're weird," Kurt said, sitting cross-legged on Puck's bed, watching as Puck laid out his cards in a sloppy pyramid. Puck shrugged.

"It passes the time." He flipped the first card. The pretty face of the fool card stared up at him. "You went somewhere. You didn't like it."

"How can you tell that?" Kurt asked, leaning in. Puck smelled like lemonade. Kurt bit his lip and tried not to think about other Puck kissing him in the grassy backyard of the other house.

"Magic." Puck flipped the next card and tapped it's face. "You're going to go back."

"I doubt it," Kurt said dryly. He remembered his other father's spidery fingers and wormy mouth and shuddered. Puck waved him off.

"Whatever," he said. "Don't listen to the dude with the magic." He collected his cards and tucked them away in their pack. When he turned around he was grinning. "Let's do something better.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Want to make out?"

Kurt didn't even bother trying to act scandalized. This Puck, as it turned out, was a much better kisser.

\---

Kurt's father wasn't home.

Kurt checked the living room and the dining room. He checked the master bedroom and knocked on the bathroom door for two minutes in a row. He even braved the basement, but none of it showed any proof of his father being present at all. There was no note on the table, which was very unusual. Kurt frowned and headed for his room. Perhaps his father would be home in the morning.

\---

There was a rabbit in his bed. Kurt blinked at it, eyes fuzzy in the early morning light. The rabbit was a soft brown, its floppy ears splotched with white spots. Its little pink nose wiggled irritably.

"I'll never get the fur out of my sheets," Kurt said to himself. "Why are you here?"

The rabbit didn't speak- of course it didn't, it was a _rabbit_ \- but it kicked one of its back legs and hopped to the foot of the bed. Happy to see it gone, or at least leaving, Kurt placed his head back on his pillow and tried to fall back asleep. Something very warm and very fuzzy landed on his face.

The rabbit batted at his nose with a soft front paw until he finally sat up, grouchy.

"What do you want?" He asked it. Again the rabbit turned and hopped to the end of the bed, little claws leaving tears in his sheets. It turned it's head and blinked its big, round eyes until Kurt stood and followed it.

The rabbit led him through the house, its paws whisper soft on the floor, until they reached the living room. It butted its furry head against the door to the other house and turned to watch Kurt silently.

"I don't think so," Kurt said. "But you're welcome to try again next week." The rabbit blinked up at him. "I have to find my father today." The rabbit wriggled its nose and hopped to the bathroom, its little bunny tail twitching.

There, in the mirror, Kurt's father stared out. He looked very sad and very old, his eyes dark and his mouth drawn down. Next to him, Puck was pounding silently on the glass, his face twisted up in a shout. Kurt could almost hear the dirty words echo across the tiles.

"Dad?"

Puck pounded on the glass once more before they faded from view. The rabbit thumped its foot on the floor impatiently and darted away. Kurt, it seemed, was going to go on an adventure.

Kurt dressed himself in his favorite jeans and tucked Puck's card under the collar of his shirt. He needed all the luck and protection he could get. Armed with an apple and a fleeting burst of hope, Kurt marched to the door and unlocked it, shoving the key into his pocket. He was ready.

The trip to the other house seemed much shorter this time, Kurt's footsteps echoing off the walls a beat behind.

"You've come back," his other father said when Kurt entered the kitchen. His face had grown longer, his fingers wider. The skin of his face seemed very stretchy, like playdoh or silly putty might be instead of skin.

"I want them back," Kurt said. "You can't keep them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," his other father replied. "Now come have breakfast with your other mother and I, and then you can go visit the boy downstairs. He's missed you, you know."

"I like the real one better," Kurt said stubbornly. "Please give them back."

"You're pushing, young man." Kurt's other father drew himself up, his shoulders seeming very large. "Maybe you need to go to time out."

"I'm too old for time out," Kurt said irritably. He wasn't a _child_. "And you're not my real father."

"That's it." Kurt's other father reared up and grabbed him by the arm, his pointy fingertips digging into the muscle painfully. He was dreadfully cold as he dragged Kurt through the living room, into the master bedroom. "Time out until you learn some manners."

Kurt watched as his other father pulled a silver key from his pocket and shoved it into the wall, twisting the plaster until it opened up like a cupboard. He tried to fight when he felt himself being pushed forward, but he was much to small for it to do any good.

"I'll be taking this," his other father said, plucking the key for the real apartment from Kurt's pocket. "You won't be needing it any longer." And then there was darkness.

"Well, that did a lot of good," Kurt said mournfully.

He sat in the darkness for what seemed like a very long time, thinking about his father and Puck. What would happen to them? What would happen to _him_? It was all very tragic, and all very much his own fault.

Something cold skittered across his cheek, and Kurt jumped. The thing that had touched him jumped too, and suddenly Kurt could see the soft, fuzzy outlines of two figures.

"Hello?"

"You're alive," one of the figures said. The voice was soft and sweet. Like music. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Kurt could see that one figure was a boy and the other a girl, both his age.

"Are you?" He asked them. They paused for a moment before shaking their heads.

"No," the boy said. "We haven't been for a long time."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said. The boy shrugged his broad shoulders.

"It happens to all of us," he said. The girl nodded, the ghost of her blonde hair swaying in the windless closet.

"It'll happen to you, too," she said.

"How did you get here?" Kurt asked. The boy frowned, his face twisted in confusion.

"The thing told me it was my other mother," he said slowly, like he was remembering a dream.

"Me too," the girl added. "Only I never got to see my real mother ever again."

"It grew bored with us and stole our souls," the boy said. His clothes were old, the girl's clothes even older. There was no telling how long they had been trapped inside. "And it'll do the same to you."

"I'm going to fix this," Kurt said. "I’m going to find my dad and Puck, and I’m going to get your souls back. I promise." The figures just looked at him sadly and shook their heads.

\---

The door unlocked sometime later, Kurt's other father smiling smugly as Kurt stumbled out of the cupboard.

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asked. Kurt nodded. He had no idea of how to find his real father, or the real Puck, but he was going to try his best. "Good boy."

"Could I go see Puck?" Kurt asked. It was a long shot, but maybe the other Puck would be able to tell him something.

"I suppose," his other father said. "But be back for supper. I'm making your favorite."

"Sure," Kurt agreed and edged toward the front door. He ran the whole way to Puck's bedroom.

"Hey," other Puck said, his button eyes flashing under the bare lightbulb. He looked flat, now that Kurt knew what the real Puck was supposed to be like. Like a doll instead of a person. "I missed you."

"Do you know where they are?" Kurt asked. The other Puck stared at him for a long time, his mouth turned down into a frown.

"No," he said finally. Kurt sighed. "But I can help you look."

Kurt watched him warily, looking him over from the top of his dumb mohawk all the way down to the dirty soles of his boots. He barely trusted the real Puck, let alone one made by his other father.

"If he made you," Kurt said slowly, "how can I trust you?"

"I was made to love you," the other Puck said sadly. "And you help the ones you love."

"Oh," Kurt said. And then, "I'm sorry." Because he didn't mean for that to happen at all. Other Puck smiled at him.

They started by exploring the yard, looking through trees and bushes and holes in the ground. Kurt didn’t really know what a soul was _supposed_ to look like, but he figured he would know one if he saw it. After all, he’d never seen one before and if he stumbled on something he’d never seen before in the yard, that would have to be it. Other Puck seemed to be having the same problem as he uprooted a bush next to the porch.

“I don’t think it’s out here,” he said as he patted it back into place. The bush sagged to the side sadly, its leaves drooping. “Maybe my aunts have one.” With no better plan, Kurt followed him down to the bottom apartment, looking over his shoulder as he went. He had the unpleasant thought that someone was watching him, and it made him shiver.

The card against Kurt’s chest itched. He pulled it out and glanced down at it, frowning. Something seemed strange about it as he looked. It was still the Death card, with its sketchy little drawing of Death in the center. It just-

“He’s pointing,” other Puck said. And, oh, now that it was said, Kurt could see the bone arm peeking out from under the black cloak, one long, sharp finger pointing forward. It had never been like that before.

So, Kurt followed it, watching Death’s finger like a bony compass. It led him through the dim lights of what had once been the magnificent theatre he’d watched Miss Brittany and Miss Santana perform in. The chairs smelled like rot, and when Kurt looked into them, he could see the remains of the audience of rabbits decaying at alarming speeds.

He jerked away from it in horror and backed into the aisle, eyes fixed even more firmly on the Death card. It led him to the stage, which was coming apart in pieces, wood chunks falling off and echoing through the room.

“Up there,” other Puck said, jumping onto the stage. He began to climb the molding curtain. He was much too large for it, even though he climbed very well, and came crashing back down. Even so, Kurt could see the glowing ball of light at the top of the curtains, balanced on the rod precariously.

“So that’s a soul,” he said to himself.

Very carefully, Kurt grabbed onto the curtain, wincing at the slick, rotten feel of the velvet, and hauled himself up. Other Puck pushed him until he was too far to reach, but it seemed like the soul was much too far away.

Just as Kurt was reaching for the ball of light, a shriek filled the auditorium. Kurt nearly fell back, only will keeping him from toppling to the stage again.

Other Misses Santana and Brittany were lumbering toward other Puck, their bodies melting like wax across the stage. Other Puck swung at one of them with a board and glanced up at Kurt as he backed away.

"Grab it," he shouted. "Then let's get the hell out of here."

And, well, that sounded like a pretty good plan.

Kurt monkied up the curtain, trying not to listen to other Puck and the screeching creature below, and reached as far as he could to grab the soul.

It was warm in his hand, like a summer breeze, and Kurt cheered, stuffing it into his pocket. One down, one to go.

Getting down was harder than getting up, even with other Puck leading the attack away. It seemed like Kurt was falling in slow motion. When he hit the ground, he ran.

Outside, the sky had turned grey, the edges of the yard fuzzy like static on a television screen. Other Puck crashed into him from behind, sending them both to the ground.

"What's happening?" Kurt asked. Other Puck looked toward the sky. His button eyes had lost their sheen and by his hairline, just barely visible, Kurt could see the stitches that were holding him together.

"He knows what you're doing," other Puck said. "And he's not happy about it." His mouth moved just a little slower than his words. He was falling apart, too.

"Well I'm not very happy either," Kurt said, raising his chin high. The best defense against a case of the scaries was confidence, he liked to say. "But _I'm_ doing something about it." He marched to the house and opened the front door. It swung easily, like it was made of cardboard instead of wood.

“What are you doing?” His other father asked.

“Leaving,” Kurt said. “And I’m bringing everyone with me.” He felt very small next to his other father, but he straightened his back and stuck up his nose. He was going home and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

“What makes you think you can just walk out?” His other father asked. He sounded amused.

“You need us here to keep you strong,” Kurt said. “And when I have the other soul, and Puck, and my _real_ father, you won’t be able to keep us here.” Something dark flittered across the other father’s face, spider like. He didn’t look much like Kurt’s father anymore at all.

“You’ll never get out,” he said. His mouth squirmed on his sallow face. “But you’re welcome to try.”

“I don’t need your permission.” Kurt took other Puck’s hand and dragged him along through the hall. He could feel his other father’s eyes watching, even as they climbed the stairs.

“That was probably a dumb move,” other Puck said. He didn’t pull his hand away, which was nice. His skin felt like cotton. Kurt ignored him, instead looking for a place where Puck and his father could be hidden.

The bedrooms were empty. Kurt checked under the beds and Puck looked in the closets, but all they found were dust piles and bugs. They searched the kitchen under the watchful button eyes of the other father and escaped to the hallway where they looked inside of every plant and behind every photo.

It wasn't until they peeked into the bathroom that they had any luck.

"Look," Kurt breathed, pointing to the mirror over the sink. Behind the glass, just like at his real house, his father and Puck stared out sadly.

"How do we get them out?" Other Puck asked. It was a very good question, which Kurt had no answer for. He stepped to the sink and put his hand to the glass. It was cold and solid. They were too far away to reach.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said to them. "I shouldn't have let him get you."

"Do you think breaking the glass would work?" Other Puck asked. Kurt looked around the mirror for any way in, but he wasn't very surprised when he found none. Other Puck watched him, arms crossed over his chest. His seams were all visible through his dark skin.

"I think it's all we can do," Kurt admitted.

Carefully, other Puck wrapped his hand up in his jacket and made a fist. As he wound back to swing, the real Puck tapped his own chest in the mirror, right above his heart. He looked very sad as the glass shattered to pieces.

No one stepped out of the mirror, but the house shook like it was stuck in the middle of a storm. The edges of the bathroom seemed to go chalky, until they were just black lines written over the world.

"Puck?" Kurt asked. Other Puck looked like he was going to fall apart. He smiled and opened his coat. In the center of his chest, right above his heart, was a glowing blue soul.

"I have something for you," he said. His voice shook and went staticky. "Take it." He pulled Kurt's hand to his chest and pressed into it. "It was made for you."

Kurt kissed him. It seemed like the right thing to do as he ripped other Puck's poor, glowing heart from his chest. When he pulled away, all that was left was a roll of cloth and two shiny black buttons. Kurt picked one up and slid it into his pocket. He really was very sorry.

The house shook as he made his way to the kitchen, the color draining from the walls and floors like chalk being washed away in the rain. The lines of the house went shaky. It looked like a child's drawing in pencil, no longer real. The world was breaking down.

"What have you done?" The other father hissed. His face looked melted, like wax. His wormy lips wriggled on his pale flesh, his button eyes sliding down his cheeks. “I made a world just for you, and you’ve ruined it.”

“We can’t always have what we want,” Kurt said. “Sometimes, I need my Dad to forget that I don’t like eggs, or to have the cute boy downstairs not notice me.” He stepped forward, even as the other father shrank back, fluttering with the wind that was rocking the house. “If life was always perfect, I wouldn’t appreciate it.”

He shoved past the other father, fingers sinking into his soft, pliable flesh. The key to his apartment hung around the other father’s neck, dark against him. When Kurt pulled it away, the other father howled.

For all of his bravery, Kurt sped toward the door to his own apartment, feet unsteady on the wobbly ground. The world around him had gone liquid and unstable, and he was going to go down with it if he didn't hurry.

It took him two tries to unlock the door because his hands were shaking. He could feel the other father's hot breath on the back of his neck closing in. He wasn't going to make it. He was going to be trapped forever with no escape and no soul.

The lock finally clicked open and Kurt fell through the door, into the hallway. A pale, wriggly hand followed him, and Kurt slammed the door as hard as he could. The snap of the other father's finger bones breaking echoed off the walls, but Kurt had no time to listen to it.

He ran and ran and ran, until he had no breath left, and then he stumbled all the way to his own apartment, lungs burning in his chest.

When he tripped over the threshold of his apartment, he turned and leaned on the door, locking it even as its hinges rattled in the frame.

"You can't come in," he shouted. "You're not allowed here."

Then, he fell asleep on the floor in a big, Kurt-shaped heap.

\---

That night, he dreamt a very strange dream. In it, he was laying in a field with the two figures from the closet and other Puck, watching the clouds float by.

"You saved us," the girl figure said. Under the sunlight, she was pale and beautiful, her hair like gold around her shoulders.

"Thank you," said the boy. He was tall and broad around the shoulders, his face gentle. In another time, Kurt might have loved him.

"You set us all free," other Puck said. His button eyes glowed, warm and happy. Kurt had a feeling he was just talking about the three of them.

"You're welcome," Kurt said, because it was the right thing to say.

\---

"Hey," Kurt's father said, voice soft as he shook Kurt's shoulder softly. He looked very tired, but he was himself, and Kurt threw his arms around him, holding on. His father patted his back awkwardly. "What was that for?" He asked when Kurt pulled away.

"For being here," Kurt answered. His father gave him a confused smile and helped him up from the floor.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Never better," Kurt replied sincerely. "I have to do something right now, but do you think we could have dinner together tonight? Just me and you?"

"Yeah, Kurt. Of course." His father was still shaking his head as Kurt ran out the front door, his hand around the key in his pocket.

Puck answered his door with a big, fake yawn, stretching his arms up over his head. It was very hard not to stare at his bare chest, but Kurt managed, just barely.

"Can you help me with something?" He asked.

"Depends," Puck leered. Kurt rolled his eyes. Boys. Honestly.

He took Puck's hand and led him through the back yard, guiding him to a spot under the only tree. Puck helped him dig a deep hole, complaining about doing the wrong kind of labor, and watched as Kurt dropped the key to the other apartment into the damp, dark soil.

"Done playing archaeologist?" Puck asked once the hole had been covered back up. Kurt nodded. He had done his job. "Want to play doctor instead?"

"Only if I get to go first," Kurt answered.

The real world wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
